The Weakness of Women
by fowl68
Summary: The idea that women are weak is laughable to Mithos. Pre-game. Spoilers.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything!

 **Author's Note:  
** So, we were discussing the role of women in ancient societies and in myths in class, which of course got me thinking. Martel was obviously an enormous factor in Mithos' upbringing and I think that would have affected his view on women quite a bit. Thus, this was born.

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 _We are the granddaughters of the witches you weren't able to burn.  
-Anonymous_

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The idea that women are weak is laughable to Mithos. The first time he hears it, he's ten years old, and he and Martel are in the clinic when one of the wounded soldiers says something. Martel is disinfecting a wound when the soldier on the bed next to her says, "'s good that the women are here. Havin' them on the frontlines'd get us all killed. They're too weak to handle it out there."

His friend who Martel is helping nods along, and Mithos wonders if they know that, from where she is, Martel can kill both of them in about five different ways, without even moving.

Mithos does not remember his mother; he thinks he should, sometimes, but he doesn't. He imagines that she is very much like Martel: strong-willed, and passionate, and intelligent. It is from Martel that he learns how powerful a voice can be, how to make your knees stop shaking when you're scared, how to make people back down with only a look. It is from Martel that Mithos learns how men look at a pretty face and don't look beyond it, don't look at the thieving hand cutting their purse or stealing their bread.

It is from Martel that Mithos learns the subtle points of the body. There is no need to break bones when you can simply slip a knife between them, no need to make them bleed when you can simply press in certain places and they go limp like a puppet without strings. She teaches him her craft, teaches him the measurements of her medicine, of her herbs. But the only difference between medicine and poison, she says, is the amount. There is a chart that she draws for him, with weights and heights, male and female, cross-referenced with ages and the herbs used. This chart is for medicine, to make people better.

Mithos does not need a chart for poison.

He learns of strength from the callouses on Martel's dry hands, of bravery in how tightly she grips his hand. He learns that gentleness is not the absence of strength from how light her touch is on her patients, how softly she can kill.

Martel teaches him how to not back down, to let no one make you feel inferior. She teaches him how to keep getting up, even when the world tells you to stay down. She teaches him that words work just as well as weapons, if you use them right, teaches him how to provoke and jab at people.

 _(The world would think of Martel as a benevolent goddess, as gentle in temperament as she was a woman, but what they would never know was her ferocity, her strength. She was not violent because she did not like to be, not because she was incapable. Martel Yggdrasill was a mother and sister yes, but she was, first and foremost, a survivor)_

The day after Mithos first hears of the—frankly, ridiculous—notion of weak women, he goes to Kratos, who is sharpening his sword as he does every morning. He asks him if he thinks women are weak.

Kratos seems surprised by the question. "Weak? Not inherently, no. But I think that there can be weak women just like there are weak men."

This makes sense to Mithos. An equal compromise. "Did you ever hear about that before? Of women being something weak?"

"I have. I don't know about elves or half-elves, but among humans, they consider women beneath men. It's a position of servitude, almost. Some things are meant for only a woman to do. Sewing, cleaning, cooking—things like that."

Mithos doesn't understand. There is nothing less masculine about any of those. "I've seen you do those things." Not that Kratos is great at sewing, but he's passable. He mends clothes and can stitch up a wound if needs be.

The smile that tilts Kratos' lips is an odd one. "I'm…not the best example for the ideal of human masculinity."

"Why not?"

"According to my father? I'm too attached to stories and book learning—academia is usually seen as a woman's notion too. Men are supposed to go to war—and I'm not…"Kratos pauses to search for the word. "Brutal enough, I suppose."

"Brutality is supposed to be a good thing?"

"That's always been my point, but." Kratos doesn't finish the sentence, just shrugging.

It is from Juliana Gillyseed—the woman who runs the inn at the edge of town, the woman who, before Mithos is allowed on the field of battle, watches over him—that Mithos learns the importance of secrets. She teaches him what to listen for, what things are valuable, what things aren't. She teaches him the power that silence can have, the weight of words. She expands on the subject of distraction, of enticement, teaches him how easily men's eyes can wander with just a shift of the thigh, with a lean of the torso.

Juliana teaches him how to put on masks, how to smile and not mean it, how to become someone else. She teaches him to cut with words, to twist them around until they hang like a noose. Her magic is a unique thing; nothing bright and strong like Martel's, like Yuan's. Hers is little shifts of shadow, little presses against the larynx, the lungs, the heart. Little touches of shadow that can turn hard in an instant, gripping and dragging and Juliana is terrifying then, a force of nature.

From Juliana, Mithos learns to never let go of something that is his. No matter what pain may be brought on him, what threats they may make, whether it be poison or blade or death, _never let go_. It is how Juliana has carved out the land for her inn, how she has kept it from other people's hands. Her blood is worked into the wooden floors, but so is the blood of the people who had stood against her.

Yuan is there with Mithos, once, when men come to make trouble. Juliana is wiping down tables when they enter. Juliana puts on a mask, smiling and polite, looking like porcelain, and asks if they need anything.

Their answer is rude, and sexual, and they start to advance.

Mithos shifts in his seat, wanting to help, but Yuan drops a hand on his shoulder, taking a sip of his drink. "She can handle those bastards," Yuan tells him.

And she does. She slams one of their heads into her newly clean tables, rams her knees into their balls, and presses a knife into the soft skin of their leader's throat. And she hasn't stopped smiling the entire time. "Get off my land," she tells them, and Mithos can _see_ it. The mana that she's worked into this inn, into the floorboards and the walls, responding as soon as she says that.

After they leave, Juliana pours herself a drink and refills Yuan's. "You're still too young, kiddo," she says, winking at Mithos before downing her drink.

"Why do they always try to do things like that?" Mithos asks Yuan as Juliana returns to her cleaning.

"Because they think power means size or physical strength. They think that because she's a woman that she's vulnerable."

"You don't think that, do you?"

"Nah." Yuan grins a little. "She outclasses me in every way." He pitches his voice louder so Juliana can hear him. "Ain't that right, Juli?"

"Not so, Yuan." She matches his grin. "You're still prettier than me."

Mithos watches Martel die in front of him. It is not a peaceful death; it is not a death after a long life of happiness, as she had deserved.

It is from Martel that Mithos learns grief. He learns grief and rage, and how those aren't the weapons, but the fuel. The humans that had taken her from him—from _them_ , because Yuan and Kratos are breaking too—die with a whisper. It's the first day that Judgment falls from the skies.

Give as good as you get. Mithos has learned that one too. If someone is trying to hurt you, you may not get away unscathed, but make sure you take them down with you.

Mithos learns that lesson well. The world had broken them, had murdered his sister.

So Mithos breaks the world.

He breaks it, and he builds a new one in its place. He remembers his lessons, and he will teach his people to be strong, to never back down. They make Cruxis, and they make the Church, and the Desians and they're all different kinds of masks. They make angels who aren't vengeful. The angels in the new scriptures are messengers, are guardians.

The world will learn to be in awe of them anyway. They will learn to see that gentleness is not the absence of strength, just a different kind.

Mithos gives them the goddess they never appreciated, gives them a goddess who preaches forgiveness, and who is so kind. There is no vengeance in her either, no wrath to flood the worlds. All she demands is someone to wake her, someone to step up and be the Chosen One.

Let all those who had seen woman and thought 'weakness' tremble.

It is a woman's world now.


End file.
